Navidad: The Catalonia Legacy
by Gerald Tarrant and Quicksilver
Summary: The Catalonias: a family of power and prestige. Here, for the first time, is the story of their family presented, against the backdrop of Christmas. Includes many original characters, but serves as a prelude to Gundam Wing. Complete. Please R/R.
1. Alicia

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
Navidad

**I. UNA LUZ BRILLÓ EN LA NOCHE  
[Una luz brilló en la noche, Un ángel canta en el Cielo  
Ha nacido de María, Jesús, el Dios verdadero]**

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair? // Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Remember me to one who lives there // She once was a true love of mine_

  
"Papá? I'm home."

She stepped gingerly into the study to see the leather chair turned away, the back of her father's head facing her as he watched the flames in the fireplace. The room smelled of cinnamon and cider and some unnamed musky fragrance that reminded her of the Spanish roses which her mother had loved.

Her father turned slowly in his chair and she couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment that there wasn't more of a welcoming expression in his face. Then again, she hadn't been expecting one.

León Catalonia, Duke Dermail, was dressed in his usual silk dressing gown, the same kind he had been wearing at home ever since she could remember. Though now he was wearing silver-rimmed glasses, which he hadn't needed before when she had lived here, and as he stood up, she noticed that he had been reading. She struggled to make out the title of the book, but it was too far away and she didn't want him to notice her trying to make it out.

"Welcome home, hija," he said, reaching out both arms. Obediently, she crossed to the desk and let him kiss both her cheeks gently. As if everything was all right. "I trust you had a good trip?"

"Yes, father," Alicia Catalonia said. The Spanish that she had not used in almost eight years sounded awkward to her ears, like child's Spanish.

He released her. "Good. The servants should have brought up your things by now. I suggest you go rest."

She stood uncomfortably for a moment, hoping he'd say something else, but he merely put took up the book again and settled himself back in his chair. Slowly, she walked to the gilt-gold edged double doors and slipped out between then, closing them softly. 

She still remembered her way around the manor, making her way absent-mindedly to the front doors and then out to the front porch of the house, a massive stone-fenced structure with slim stone pillar supports, Spanish moss draped in flowing arcs from the old iron hooks that had once been used to hold hanging flowerpots. The manor itself was over ninety years old, built by her great-grandfather whom she had never met. Her father talked about him sometimes, though she had never really listened. She'd never cared to.

The air was bitterly cold, but she didn't mind, staring off into the dusky sky and at the winking lights of Santiago de Compestela across the river. There would be a festival tonight, a continuation of the holiday festival that had been going on for the past two weeks before her arrival. Tonight would be a big one. She remembered the celebrations from her childhood: the folk costumes, the dancing, the storytelling and the food. So much food. Usually it snowed, but tonight there was no snow, though last week's snow still hugged the ground. It wouldn't melt till the spring.

"Alicia?"

One of the front doors creaked open and she heard the step of a boot on the stone patio. Knew who it was even though she had not seen him in eight years.

"Hello, León," she said.

Her brother didn't say a word as he came up to join her, leaning on the balcony with his arms crossed in front of him. She stared at the city lights for a while longer, then turned her head to look at him. He'd grown, she noted absently. A lot. His broad shoulders filled out his overcoat and the elegant riding jacket and pants under it. He'd grown his hair out since she'd seen him, and it hung curling and dark just brushing his shoulders, longer than their father had ever had his. For two men who bore the same name, they shared nothing else in common.

She was glad.

"Eight years and you don't have any more words for me?" he said, teasingly.

She couldn't tear her eyes away as he turned his head to look at her and then she was wrapping her arms around him, feeling her tears spill onto the slightly scratchy material of his coat, and she felt his arms around her.

"Alicia…" he murmured. "Alicia, welcome home."

"I've missed you," she said fiercely. "You don't know how much I've missed you…"

"I've missed you too," he intoned softly, breaking her tight embrace to hold her at arms' length and look at her. His dark eyes were soft in the fading light. "You're still as beautiful as ever, little sister…and as rebellious, I assume."

She turned away from him and he caught her arm. "Sorry. It was a joke."

"I…I saw Papá before I came out here. He didn't say a thing."

León raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Alicia scuffed one toe of her book along the railing. "Not a damn thing…not that he missed me, not if I've had a good twelve years away from home. As if I'd never left."

"Well," her brother reasoned, "at least you two didn't argue."

She didn't reply to that, and after a moment he placed one hand on her shoulder. "Come on. It's cold out here and you don't have a coat on…you'll freeze. I'll help you unpack."

Alicia hesitated a moment, then nodded and let him lead her back through the doors, up the spiral staircase and through the long corridor of the first floor to the room which she'd occupied as a child, before she'd made up her mind to go to the Academy. Her father hadn't liked that. It had been a bad parting.

The servants had piled her trunks in a neat little pile by her canopied bed, which had been freshly made before she had arrived., and she lifted the first one onto the feather-down quilt, snapping it open. Bras and underwear spilled out and she glanced at her brother, but he didn't seem fazed as she began folding them.

"You're really quiet," León remarked, watching her throw her things into the open drawers of the boudoir by the bed. "You didn't used to be like this."

"Yes, well, things change," Alicia said. "Sometimes I don't know why I agreed to come back for Christmas. It's too quiet here."

"What did make you come back?"

Something in his voice made her stop and turn around. "What do you mean?"

His dark, clear gaze was penetrating. "You know what I mean. You've been avoiding us for twelve years and then suddenly you call and say you're coming home for Christmas? You and Papá don't even talk, for goodness' sake."

"Things change, León," she said softly. "More than you think."

"What's that around your neck?" he asked suddenly.

"What? Oh…this?" She drew out the ring that hung heavy on a thin gold chain nestled close to her skin. Its amethyst stone sparkled in the light, and she held it out to him so he could read it. She already knew the raised lettering by heart.

LAKE VICTORIA ACADEMY CLASS OF '66

"Boyfriend?" he asked.

She stuffed the ring back inside the neck of her dress, turning away. "I don't want to talk about it."

He sighed explosively. "We don't seem to be starting it off on the right foot, do we?"

"Look León," she said, pulling out a long scarf from her pack. "It's been eight years since I've seen you and twelve since I've been home. Things change. We've both grown up. All right? I just need….I just need a little time, that's all, to adjust, then I'll be fine."

"A little time, Alicia, and you'll be gone back to Britain. We don't have that. Who knows when I'll see you again?"

The raw hurt in his voice surprised her and the scarf in her hands trembled a bit. "I didn't know you missed me that much," she murmured.

"You're all I've got," he said. "With the colonies in such a mess after Yuy's death…I don't want to lose you."

"Don't be stupid, León."

"I'm being melodramatic again, aren't I?" His voice was rueful. "Too much time around those old Federation fogies, I guess."

"León," she said suddenly, "the Dermail Duchy won't be yours until both Papá and Uncle Sergio die, will it?"

"Why do you care?"

"I thought you wanted it," she said, carefully folding and smoothing the scarf and placing it beside the clothes on the bed. "You always talked about it before."

"That was a long time ago," he said. "Before I realized that it wasn't all fun and games."

"León-"

"This conversation is way too serious for my taste," he said, and she felt his hand on her arm, felt him pull her around. She made a surprised yelp in her throat. "Come on, let's go downstairs. Papá won't be out yet until the guests are all here, but the first ones will be arriving any minute."

"Christmas Eve," she said. "Noche Buena. What's so good about it?"

He came forward a few steps and hugged her. "Alicia, if there's something you want to talk about…"

"No," she said into his chest, feeling the ring around her neck digging into her collarbone. "Nothing."

"Let's go downstairs," he said.

"I think I'd rather stay here…"

León frowned at her. "Alicia-"

"I'll be down in ten minutes," she said. "Ten. Give me time to put the rest of my things up and change. This dress isn't suitable for the party."

"I'll be waiting," he said, just as a knock sounded on her door. León opened it. The servant standing outside bowed politely.

"Señor, the Estancios are here."

"I'll be right down," León said, easing the door closed. "Alicia, are you sure-"

"I'm fine," she said angrily. "Fine. Leave it, all right?"

He still didn't look convinced as he left, and she sat down on her bed, a sock in her hands, staring at the wall. When they had been children it had always been her asking why, asking to bend the rules, and her brother the solemn one who would restrain her, hold her back. It was much the same now.

León said that she had changed, but it was he that had changed. He'd always been solid and quiet, but now he seemed burdened with a sense of responsibility that hadn't been there when they had parted ways twelve years ago. He had been the spoiled heir to the Dermail estates, the firstborn male child, the family prodigy at only fifteen years old. Anything León did was great. Anything that she did was frowned upon, because she was the girl child, useful only for marriage.

At age thirteen, she'd rebelled.

Her father hadn't liked it. In fact, he'd hated it. He'd threatened to cut her off, leave her on her own without a penny to her name. But León had stepped in, intervened, and the elder Catalonia had let her go. She hated her brother for that sometimes. It had been her one great act of rebellion, and even that had to be marred by his perfection.

León loved her. He loved her too much to let her truly be free. After she had graduated from the Academy and had been stationed in Germany he'd shown up at her flat in Rammstein one day unannounced, and she had no choice but to let him in, let him fuss over her and reassure her that she was welcome at home any time. She'd wondered at first how he had even gotten on base, but later realized that the names Catalonia and Dermail were powerful tools.

She never mentioned her ties to her family if she could help it, but she knew León reveled in the political scene, the intrigue and the gossip and the scandals. He was always on the news regarding some new development in the political arena….he along with Mayer and Georg Khushrenada and Corwin Peacecraft. It wasn't entirely his fault. He had been groomed for this since birth, and she had not.

Alicia sighed, got up, slid the dress that she'd brought for the party off the hangar and changed quickly. Reaching for a brush for her hair, her hand brushed the edges of the silken scarf and she picked it up. The fabric was woven in a gypsy pattern, wide bands of color swirling in dizzying patterns that made her lightheaded if she stared at it for too long. On a whim, she draped it over her shoulders, which were left bare by the elegant evening gown. She had forgotten how she hated parties.

The tinkling music of the harpsichord in the music room downstairs drifted through the wood of her closed door, which meant that the Khushrenadas were here and that Marie was showing off again. No matter that no one played the harpsichord anymore, because if it was refined, no matter how old fashioned, Marie would do it. Alicia had never liked Marie. Or her sister…Emily?

It had been a while.

The scarf was soft and cool on her warm skin and she touched it gently, remembering his touch, so long ago before she had pushed him away, frightened of her own humanity. No one had ever…loved her like he had. Not even León.

"Alicia! Are you coming?"

That was her brother. She reluctantly opened the door and hurried to the stairs, placing one gloved hand on the railing and taking careful steps down. There were already quite a few people milling about, holding drinks and dainty pastries in their hands, talking, laughing. Marie was still playing the harpsichord in the other room.

"My, my, Señorita Catalonia…still as lovely as ever."

"Hello, Emily," she said calmly in English, ignoring the mocking words and taking the other woman's gloved hand. Emily Khushrenada was a lovely woman, but in a cold kind of a way that Alicia found nauseating rather than captivating. Then again, she was aware that Emily had had her eye on León for a while now. "It's been a long time."

Emily smiled graciously, though Alicia wasn't sure what lay behind those blank, beautiful eyes. "Alicia, meet my fiancé, the Comte d'Alsace, Jalbert Allaire."

So maybe Emily's designs on León hadn't worked out after all. Jalbert was a rather heavyset man with a broad face and a thin mouth. He bowed and took her hand, and Alicia murmured something that she hoped was polite and slipped away. She couldn't see León anywhere; he was probably in the music room with Marie. She was actually rather impressed that the whole Khushrenada extended family had come all the way from France and Germany to visit. Was there some special occasion?

The night air was as chilly as ever and she drew the shawl around her, shivering as she stepped onto the front porch again. It was too crowded in there, too many people drinking and talking about their meaningless engagements and gossip. She suddenly missed her mobile suit and her desk at the airbase. If she was going to take the holiday off, she wanted to enjoy it, and this was not her idea of enjoyment. She should never have come back.

"I'm a soldier," she said to the night air, "not a noblewoman."

"There's no reason you can't be both," said a voice behind her. León assumed his usual position beside her on the railing. "Aren't you cold?"

"Why do you have to be looking after me all the time?" she asked irritably.

"I'm your older brother," León said. "I have a certain resp-"

"Damn you!" Alicia shouted suddenly, ripping the scarf off her shoulders and flinging it at him. He caught it, surprised. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

She stormed into the house, not waiting to hear his reply, brushing by startled guests and running back up the stairs to her room, kicking off her high heels and flinging herself on the bed to stare at the ceiling. A tight ball of anger pulsed inside her and she grasped the ring around her neck, tugging hard on the chain, willing the room to melt away and to find herself back at her comfortable flat in Britain, with the roar of mobile suit testing on the Mildenhall airfields nearby and the fire crackling and a pot of coffee warming itself in the small kitchen.

This wealth…it sickened her, really. She'd forgotten what it was like, and now that she remembered, she had no desire to go back.

She gave an especially hard tug on the chain and it tensed, broke. Her hand hit the quilt, holding the ring with the loose chain crumpling around it.

There was a knock on the door.

"I don't want to talk to you!" she shouted, but the door opened anyway as she cursed herself for not having locked it, and, as she expected, León came into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it this time.

"Alicia, why are you avoiding me?"

"Because you're a nosy pest, that's why," she bit out. "You know, maybe I wouldn't be like this if you would leave me alone."

She expected him to give a pacifying answer to that, expected to become more angry at the answer, and looked for something to throw at him. But instead he held out a folded piece of cloth to her. She blinked, recognized her scarf.

"You forgot something."

She sat up, still clutching the ring, and took the scarf from him with her free hand, laying it in her lap. "León. Please, just…leave me alone."

"I'm engaged to Marie," he said suddenly.

Alicia blinked.

"I was going to write to you…but then I heard from Papá that you were coming home for Christmas and I figured I'd wait. It really didn't turn out the way I hoped, though…I thought you'd be happy to be here."

So that was why the whole Khushrenada clan was here tonight. She laughed scornfully. "Me? Happy here? I was perfectly happy until I got here."

"Then why did you come home?"

She laid the ring on top of the scarf carefully, cupping her hand on top of it. León, why are you making this so hard? "I…I wanted to make sure…I still had a home," she whispered, hoping that he wouldn't try to comfort her, because the last thing she wanted was comfort from him. It didn't mean a thing.

"Alicia, you'll always have a home," León said. "If not here, then wherever I am. You're always welcome."

"Well, you don't need me anymore, do you?" she said. "I mean, you have Marie now, and-"

In two steps he was there, kneeling at the side of the bed. "Marie and I are an arranged marriage. Papá arranged it. I have nothing to do with it. I don't even like Marie."

"Then why-"

"Sometimes you don't have a choice, do you?" She was surprised to hear a current of rough bitterness in his voice, and he got up, his back to her. "Sometimes you have to do what's expected of you. Even if you hate it."

Alicia could hardly keep from gaping at him. "León?"

"You had the right idea," he said. "You got away. I…I can't."

She slid off the bed, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just that I can't…I don't belong here."

"Neither do I," he said sadly. "That's the crux, isn't it?"

"Thank you for bringing my scarf back."

"It's an interesting pattern," he remarked, putting his large hands on hers. "Gypsy pattern, correct?"

She nodded against his back. "How did you guess?"

"It's a distinctive pattern. Who gave it to you?"

"Someone very special," she whispered, letting go of him. "A long time ago."

He didn't question her. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, Alicia…"

"No," she said, smiling faintly up at him. "No, you could never do that. I'm just…not the same girl you knew when we were children. It's been too long."

"I understand," he said. "Believe me, I tried to get Father to change his mind…at least he didn't disown you like he had planned."

_I'd rather he had_, Alicia said silently, but she didn't speak her thoughts out loud, simply gathered the loose chain and ring and the scarf and handed them to her brother. "Can you keep these for me? They'll get misplaced if they stay with me."

The ring flashed a bright gold as León took it, tumbling from her hands to his in the loose embrace of the scarf. He gave her a quizzical look. "Why? You don't want them anymore? Bad memories?"

She shook her head. "No…good memories. Too good…I don't deserve them." _I don't deserve him._

Again, he didn't press her. Twelve, even eight years ago, he would have, valiantly striving for the side of right, urging her to question her reasons. But he didn't do that now. "Alicia? Are you all right?"

She straightened and gave her brother as genuine a smile as she could manage. "I will be," she said. "When I have things all figured out."

"And when will that be?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? As you said, who knows how much time I have? I want to have things figured out…before it's too late."

"Now you're being melodramatic," León said chidingly. "You know I'll always love you, no matter who you are. And I don't know who gave these things to you…but I'm sure he always will, as well."

"How do you know it's a he?" she challenged.

"I don't," he said. "But who else would give a scarf and a ring to a lady?"

Alicia stared up at him, her gaze intense. "León. Promise me that you'll keep them for me. And when…when you find the woman you truly love, promise me you'll give them to her."

He looked confused. "What? I don't-"

"Promise." Gripping his hands. "Please. It's important."

She sensed him tense, then relax, and his eyes were clear and honest as he looked at her. "I promise, mi hermana. If it's that important to you. I'll promise you anything."

"Thank you," she whispered, then released his hands. "Come on, put them in your room and let's go down. We're missing the party." 

To Part 2 | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	2. Etille

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
Navidad

**Ii. VENI, VENI, EMANUEL  
[Veni, veni Emanuel: captivum solve Israel,  
Qui gemit in exilio, privatus Dei Filio  
Gaude! gaude! Emanuel nascetur pro te, Israel]**

_Have her find me an acre of land // Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Between the sea and over the sand // And then she'll be a true love of mine_

  
Christmas Eve again.

_How time flies_, Dermand Etille thought morosely to himself as he pulled up in the lot two blocks from his flat, turned off the engine, and grabbed his briefcase and the paper bag of Chinese takeout he had stuffed next to him in his chair. The Beijing traffic was quiet tonight. People spending Christmas Eve at home with their families, no doubt, or on holiday out of the country. Christmas was a big event in China, a kind of Independence Day as well as the traditional holiday for a country whose inhabitants still bore bitter memories of the past Communist rule even after so many years. Most of his friends had left early, heading to various parties, gone caroling, or just gone home to be with family.

While he had been working late at the office again, as usual.

It wasn't as cold tonight as it had been last night, and the sky was clear, which was a good thing. He didn't relish walking home in the snow. Making sure the car was locked and that the alarm was turned on, he slammed the door, walking briskly down the dimly lit alleyway that led to the main road. He could hear music and people laughing and as he emerged onto the street, the smell of roast pig and burning incense filled his nostrils.

"Ah! Meestah Etille!" The pig foot seller two stalls down called to him in bad English, recognizing him. "Marri Kurismassi!"

Etille smiled as he passed. "Merry Christmas," he returned, turning right and crossing the street to head down another dark road. The streets of Beijing were safe, usually, and he really wasn't worried about being attacked on the way home. Beijing pickpockets had better places to hide out.

He keyed in the code for the front door of the complex and took the elevator up to his flat on the fifteenth floor, letting himself into his dark, cold hollow of a room. Turning on the light and placing the takeout on the table, he turned up the heater and sat down on the couch, flicking on the televid.

"-can't help wondering what the world would be like if Heero Yuy was still alive," the expertly dressed male anchor was saying in Mandarin. Etille snorted and picked up the takeout, digging his chopsticks into the rice and turning down the TV so he wouldn't have to hear it.

People had cried war after the politician's death, but war hadn't arrived, and he couldn't see why some people kept dwelling on Yuy's tragic end. It had been a horrible loss for the colonies and the world, but there was no use crying over it, and if people didn't move on, there _would_ be war. It had been two years, and they were still analyzing it, making him larger than life, giving Yuy far more credit than he had ever gotten when he was alive.

The news had now moved to some of the Christmas Eve celebrations taking place throughout the city, and he sighed, crossed his legs, and picked up another chunk of chicken with his chopsticks. His family had asked him to come back to France for the holidays. He hadn't seen them in three years, but OZ had needed him here in Beijing, so here he was, alone on Christmas Eve, eating takeout and watching television.

The work he did was important, and he supposed it was nice to know that he was wanted, but at the same time he would have given almost anything to be back over there in France, watching the snow fall. Being with his family. He missed them.

His cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line was his secretary, wondering if he had confirmed his reservation for the commander's Christmas party tomorrow. He sighed, said he had, wished her a Merry Christmas, and hung up. He'd almost hoped it was someone interesting. But then again, no one interesting would be calling him anyway.

There was a picture on top of the televid and he found himself suddenly staring at it instead of the moving picture on the LCD screen. It was a picture of a teenage boy with his arm around an equally young girl, their faces bright, shining, hopeful, certain. The girl was holding a bouquet of flowers and had a colorful scarf wrapped around her shoulders.

The scarf had been his mother's. His father had given it to her when they were married, and she'd given it to him when he had gone off to the Academy.

_This is my only charge to you_, she had said. _When you find the woman you truly love, give this to her._

And he had, and she'd taken his love and run off with it. Betrayed him. Taken his mother's last gift to him and thrown it away. He didn't hate her for it…he could never hate her. But sometimes he had wondered how such a dazzingly alive, vibrant woman like her could still manage to be so cold, so cruel.

And now she was dead.

He really should throw that picture away, but it was his only link to the past, to her, and he somehow couldn't find it in him to let it go just like that. Maybe in a few years…when the memories had faded somewhat and he could take the next step forward…

_You've been telling yourself that for years. You'll never forget her._

Etille shoveled the rest of the rice into his mouth, threw the chopsticks and the box into the trash, and grabbed his scarf and coat. It was too nice of a night to be sitting inside with the ghost of her, and he was going to go take a walk. He glanced at the digital clock as he left, locking the door gate behind him. It read 2243 hours.

It was definitely one of the clearest Christmas Eves he'd experienced in a while, and as he walked back down to the well lit street, he looked up at the narrow space of sky that he could see between the tall walls of the buildings on both sides. So many buildings here, and not enough sky.

"Back agaan? Perhaps you want some peeg?"

Etille hesitated a little by the door and then went in to the tiny shop, dug in his pocket for some change and accepted the stick of roast pig meat handed to him. "Xie xie," he murmured, biting into it. "Delicious as usual."

"Yes, but no customers," the man bemoaned, lapsing back into Mandarin. Etille knew that the pig seller preferred to show off his English, which was really not bad at all except for his heavy Chinese accent, but there were fewer people on the street now and no one to show off to. "All probably inside for family gatherings, I suppose."

"Why aren't you home?" Etille wondered, finishing the pig and depositing the stick into the greasy trash can by the store front. The man was picking up his wares, emptying out pans and running the water in the sink. "Surely your family is waiting for you."

"Ehh…long story," the man said, grimacing. "My wife decided to move to America with our daughter two months ago, for her school, and so I'm here by myself."

"Oh," Etille said. After a moment, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," the man said, smiling. "I send them some of the money I make and she's found a job too. I'm going to join them there after the New Year, most likely." He emptied the tub of pig grease into the sink. "Say…what about you? Don't you have a wife?"

Etille shook his head. "I'm just not meant to marry, I suppose."

The pig seller snorted. "Nonsense! You're educated, smart, and not bad looking. What woman would reject a man like you?"

_I wish it were that simple_, Etille wanted to say, pushing himself off the counter. "Perhaps someday," he returned. "I'll be going now…Merry Christmas."

"Same to you!" the man waved cheerfully. "Have a good night!"

He resumed his walk down the street. Most of the vendors were already closed, and those who were not were just pulling down their gates and taking out the trash. The moon was high and he stopped for a moment, watching his breath frost in the light of the streetlamps. 

Alicia had loved the moon. They were alike, she and the moon, mysterious and feminine and potent all at once, strong and cold, and he….he had been so unworthy of her.

The recorded message had come to his computer late that September night four months ago as he was attempting to finish one last report before heading home, knowing that he was working himself too hard but that they were on a time crunch. When his screen had beeped, he hadn't even acknowledged it for a minute, trying to scribble something down that required his utmost attention. Funny, he couldn't remember what that was now.

The screen beeped again and he finally turned his attention to it, noting that the message was marked urgent. Frowning, wondering what had happened, he clicked the button to retrieve it. It had then asked for a password and he typed it in hurriedly.

The screen blanked and then cleared to reveal the image of a handsome man dressed in a silk suit and tie, sitting in front of a desk. His face was grave but blank, the careful blankness of a politician. But it was the features that struck Etille the most: the dark, curling hair, the exotic eyes fringed by long lashes, the pale skin.

"Lieutenant Commander Etille, my name is León Dermail Catalonia." His voice was rich, deep, his English perfect with only a hint of the Castellano Spanish accent. "I am calling to inform you of the regretful incident of my sister Alicia Catalonia's death. She was killed yesterday in an engagement in the Middle East when her mobile suit was destroyed. Your name was on her will as one of the people to be contacted in case of her death. I have a small package to you from her which will be shipped as soon as possible."

He paused, and then his face had relaxed somewhat, a bit of the emotion behind the dark eyes showing through. "I do not know what her relation was to you, but I am certain that she cared for you a great deal. Please, if you have any need to contact, me do so. My contact information is encoded in this message file, should you wish to use it. Again I regret leaving this news with you."

End transmission.

Thinking back, Etille didn't remember how he had reacted, only that he had somehow managed to make it home that night, and that he hadn't gone to work the next morning, calling in sick. It was all empty…a blank, as if with her death everything had ceased to exist.

The package from León Catalonia had arrived in the mail a week later, but he already knew what it was before he opened it, before the golden ring fell out of the box into his waiting hand. The chain was still attached to it. It had been broken, he noted absently, fingering the cool metal. Broken because she had no longer wished to wear it?

He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

He had wanted to delete that message when he finally managed to bring himself to look at it again, to relieve the terrible details from her brother's mouth, but something had prevented him from doing so, and so he'd saved it in one of the private encrypted folders on datapad and taken it home with him. Just in case. He wasn't sure just in case what, but simply that.

Alicia had always said that. Just in case. She would do this or that just in case. There had been the time she had brought her portable electric heater with her on a camping trip in the middle of July, and they had ended up using it when it had suddenly stormed and soaked all their belongings.

_I'll keep this with me forever_, she'd promised when he had given her his ring. And now it was back in his hands, which meant that it hadn't been with her when she died, because León had stated quite clearly what had happened to her mobile suit. She had left it at home. With her brother? In her private belongings? Whatever the case, she had lied.

But perhaps she had kept the scarf, because there was only the ring in the package. Not the gypsy scarf with its hypnotizing lines and whirls of color that spoke of longing and desire.

"Sir? Would you like to buy some candles?"

Etille glanced down, saw a little boy holding up a basket of crudely made wax candles. The child came up to about his waist and he was wearing a tattered pair of jeans and a thin jacket. The long, tangled black hair had obviously not been cut in a while, and the thin hand which held the basket was shaking. Reaching into his pocket, Etille pulled out a few bills and handed them to the child, taking four candles. 

"Is this enough?"

The boy nodded, the almond shaped eyes looking too big for his hauntingly thin face, and then was gone before Etille could say another world, running towards the direction of one of the alleys. Etille sighed.

He might as well go home. Everything was closed now, and it was getting colder.

His flat was warm. He'd forgotten to turn off the heater when he had gone out, and he shrugged out of his jacket and scarf, not bothering to turn on the lights. Pulling out a battered metal try from under the stove, he placed the candles on it and lit them all at once. The dancing flames were reflected in the picture on top of the now silent televid.

Wondered suddenly what León Catalonia was doing on this Christmas Eve.

He'd seen the man's face before on televid, but never clearly, and he had never much liked politics anyway. The Federation was full of it, which was why he was in OZ, glad to be away from the scheming. 

Not knowing why he did so, he got up from the couch, went into the tiny bedroom and began rummaging through the sheaf of papers on the desk by the bed. There were printouts of virus programs in there, dinner arrangements that he was afraid he would forget, bills needed to be mailed and military assignments…

He found it.

Etille stared at the paper for a moment, then silently rose, turning on the vidscreen in the corner. The machine beeped and he entered the number at the edge of the paper, finding himself watching as if he were a spectator, as if it was someone else's fingers who were running over the keys, someone else's eyes watching as the screen cleared, someone else's voice responding as the well-dressed man with a glass of wine in his hand answered.

"¿Sí?"

He felt extremely awkward. There was obviously a party going on and he was sure he was interrupting something. He always was. "Sir, my name is Dermand Etille…I don't know if you remember me. I was a friend of your sister's, and I…" 

He trailed off, as he saw the man's expression change from carefully polite to alarmed, then to recognition. "Oh! Mr. Etille…Commander Etille, is it? Of course I remember you. Alicia was very fond of you."

His heart leapt in his throat. "She talked about me?"

Settled as León shook his head. "No, she never did talk about you. But I always knew that that ring was from someone special. It has a great history, that ring…you did receive it, correct?"

Etille nodded dumbly. León smiled.

"Yes. Was there anything you wanted to talk about, in particular?"

"I err…well, no," he stammered, feeling very inadequate in the face of this elegant man. Alicia had had the same effect on him, making him stumble for words. He realized again with a small shock how similar the two looked. "I came across your number while I was going through some papers and decided to call…wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Ah, yes…hold, please." The screen momentarily went blank, and then León was back. "My wife. She wanted to know what I was doing." The smile he gave Etille was joking "Women…you never know with them."

"No," Etille said softly. "You don't."

León must have realized that he had said something wrong, because he immediately reached out one hand to the screen. "I am sorry, Commander….I didn't mean to bring back any bad memories."

"They're not bad," Etille said. "Not at all."

"The best thing you can do for her," León said gently, "is to let her ghost go. She wouldn't want you to be grieving over her still."

"I tell myself that every day."

"The scarf…" León said suddenly. "It is yours, is it not?"

Etille narrowed his eyes. "How did you know about that?"

"I have it," the nobleman said. "She gave it to me, for safekeeping before she went away." He seemed to hesitate. "Would you like it back?"

Etille was about to say, yes, give it back, and then he saw the expression that that the other man tried to hide too late, the expression that said quite clearly he hoped that Etille would not ask for it back, that he did not want to let it go. A last link to his dead sister, perhaps?

"No," Etille said. "No, you can keep it."

León smiled. "I'll keep it then. Let me know if you change your mind."

"I will." An awkward pause. "Well…Merry Christmas, sir."

"Merry Christmas," León said. "And thank you for calling."

The screen went dark.

So she'd kept the scarf after all. Still had it, after all these years. Then again, he wouldn't expect anything else. Alicia had been a great romantic…a cynical one, perhaps, but romantic nonetheless. She'd told Etille it was in her Spanish blood.

_The best thing you can do for her is to let her ghost go._

He hesitated, then came to a conclusion, took up the piece of paper in his hands and stuck it in the paper shredder. The machine gulped it down, whirring and tearing, and then was silent. He went out in the living room and lit the fireplace, waiting until the blaze was a healthy roar, bathing the small room in an unearthly rosy glow, then took up the picture of the two of them that sat on top of the televid.

He eased the picture out of the frame, running a hand over her cheek, his finger catching a bit on the photo-paper. He looked at it, looked at the fire, and then with a violent motion, dropped the paper into the blaze. It caught at once in a glorious halo of colors.

_Adiós, mi señora bella…adiós, fantasma mia._

It must have been the sparks from the burning photo, because his vision suddenly became very blurry as he turned and fumbled through the darkness until his hand found the knob of the drawer and he pulled it out, reached inside for the ring that he knew would be there. The amethyst sparkled in the red-orange light, and this time his hand did not waver as he let it fall into the fire. 

To Part 1 | To Part 3 | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	3. Emily

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
Navidad

**III. STILL STILL STILL   
[Weil's Kindlein schlafen will  
Maria tut es niedersingen  
Ihre ganze Lieb' darbringen]**

_Love imposes impossible tasks // Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Though not more than any heart asks // And I must know she's a true love of mine_

  
The night was cold and she had bundled an extra set of wraps around her, prepared for the worst. It wouldn't be the first time that it had started snowing in the middle of the night, and who knew when she would get home?

A knock on the door and she paused, the hand holding her powder brush poised on midmotion. "Come," she called.

She saw the butler's form in the mirror. "Excuse me, Lady Emily, but you have a call."

"From León? Tell him just one second."

"No, Madame…I do not know who it is from. But it is marked as urgent."

Emily Khushrenada Catalonia gave a delicate cough. "Antoine, I don't care who it is from, tell them I am busy and will be there in a minute."

"Yes, my lady." The door closed, and she sat staring at it in the mirror's reflection, wondering how people could be so dense. Really! Interrupting a lady in the middle of delicate work…anyone should know better than that.

Patting her ornate golden curls one more time and tucking a stray strand of hair back into place, she put down the powder brush, ran the lipstick over her mouth, and checked her eye makeup in the mirror before standing up and adjusting the fur stole on her shoulders. The third party of the Christmas season…only the third! Honestly, she'd expected to have been invited to quite a few more, and she supposed it was all because León was gone for the holidays that she hadn't been. It was bad form to invite a woman to a party without her husband, but Emily had been sure to make it quite clear to several people that there would be dire consequences if she was not invited to some of the gatherings of the season. Tonight's party being one of them.

Picking up her fur coat and outer wrap from where it was draped over a velvet couch, she considered calling the maid to have her dress, then decided against it, throwing the garments around herself. The maids were so slow these days. She had asked León to look into hiring some new ones, and he'd promised to look into it as soon as possible, but he was always away. Busy with some Federation business or other.

She'd been lucky to land León. Her first husband she'd divorced two years before she had met the Comte d'Alsace, and even the fact that she was marrying twice was frowned upon by her family. Pick one and stick to it, they said. Her sister Marie had been especially righteous about that, going on about León. How he was the only one for her.

The only one for her he had been, because barely six months into their marriage, Marie was dead. She'd always been a sickly child, and the family had known it. They'd pushed up the wedding date to make sure that she would at least be a married woman when she died. Emily had seen León at the funeral in the appropriate role of grieving husband, but she didn't know what there was to grieve about. He had hardly known Marie, and it was a well known fact that he hadn't married for love.

Emily took the chance.

It was a simple matter to divorce Jalbert, who didn't put up much of a fight. They had never really gotten along anyway. And Emily had used her charms on León, and they had worked. It might have just been his grief over his sister Alicia, who had died less than half a year after Marie, but Emily wasn't about to let that slow her down. She hadn't really liked Alicia anyway.

León loved her, that she was certain. She was pretty sure she loved him as well, though the definition of love was a shady one at best, but there was no doubt that he at least had fallen hard for her. He'd never leave her, that was for sure. Not with his precious daughter's happiness at stake. Dorothy took after her, the fair complexion and the eyes, but she had her father's Spanish features. Emily had been slightly upset that it hadn't been a male when the doctor had come for gender testing, but León had told her a firm no when she had asked to abort it and try again.

_It's a child, Emily. It's our child. We can always have more children, but we're going to let all of them live, no matter if they are male or female._

There had been something shadowed and desperate behind his eyes as he had said that, and she was quite certain that she could see the ghost of his dead sister there. He had never quite gotten over Alicia's death. Emily knew that León saw Alicia in his young daughter, but she had never cared enough to bring it up. It was a male thing, she supposed.

"Lady Emily!"

She swept down the grand staircase, making sure to take her time. "I'm coming, Antoine."

"In the comm room, Madame," he said, bowing as she passed and entered the comm room through the glass doors. She recognized the dark-skinned man on the screen at once: Tamirat Kambon, the Federation's Head Foreign Affairs Minister and the man who had been Heero Yuy's right hand while he had been alive.

"Monsieur Kambon," she said, nodding her head and lapsing into the French accented English that made her sound like a true noblewoman. "A pleasure." The clock read five minutes to ten o' clock, and if she didn't leave soon, she'd be late…

"Madame Catalonia," he said, nodding back at her, his deep voice grave, and suddenly she caught the scent of something amiss.

"What's going on?" she asked sharply, discarding the accent.

"Madame…I…" he appeared to choke, then blinked and looked at her, continued. "Madame, your husband was aboard one of the civilian shuttles from L3 to Earth this afternoon. The shuttle exploded in midflight. There…were no survivors."

She gripped the table until her fingers hurt. "What?"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You liar," she hissed. "I don't know what kind of sick joke you're trying to play, but this is unacceptable!"

"It's not a joke, Madame. I wish it was."

"Liar!" she screamed at the screen, hand grasping for something, anything to throw at it. Her fingers grazed an ivory statue of an elephant that León had brought back from his travels to Africa and she raised it, hurled it at the vidscreen just as Kambon put his hands up, shouting "Wait-!"

The screen shattered.

Emily found herself shaking, and Antoine was rushing through the door with two other servants in tow shouting something that she couldn't make out. It was a horrible joke…León wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead.

"I'll see those bastards brought to justice," she grated. "I'll-"

"Lady Emily, please!" Antoine's hands on her arms brought her back to the room, and she pushed him away.

"How dare you touch me!" she cried. "I am a lady!"

Antoine backed away rapidly. "Madame…sorry, Madame…only trying to help…" The two other servants were gingerly sweeping up the remnants of the screen. The elephant, she noted distractedly, was ironically still intact except for a piece of its trunk, which had fallen off and skittered to rest near the bookcase by the wall.

She swept out of the room, ignoring him and his offers of assistance, went back up the stairs in a daze. León…dead? Surely, he couldn't be. Not her León, the proud, strong, noble man she had seen off to the spaceport only a week before, who had kissed her and promised to be home in time for Christmas.

He would have been home tonight.

Surely there was a note…something…she dashed back to the bedroom, threw open the door and threw aside the bedspread, began dumping out the drawers, searching for something, anything, a sign that he was still alive. Jewelry jingled as she threw the box against the wall, sending pearls and silver flying, and she didn't even realize when she settled slowly back on her heels and just felt the tears slide down her cheek.

"Madame?"

"Leave me alone," she choked.

"Madame…you will not be going to the ball, then?"

Where had he gotten that notion? "Of course I will! In five minutes."

"Very well," Antoine said softly, and she heard the door close. Gazing at the shambles of the room around her, it slowly dawned on her that he wouldn't be coming back.

"You bastard," she whispered fiercely. "You fucking bastard!" Stumbling into the bathroom to her vanity mirror, picking up a bottle of perfume. "YOU!" the perfume smashed against the wall and she grabbed a jar of cream- "FUCKING!" - the jar shattered on the counter and the pink cream began to drip slowly down the front, and she found another bottle of perfume - "BASTARD!" The perfume bottle exploded against the mirror, which cracked, and she whimpered, crumpling to her knees again and wrapping her arms around herself.

After what seemed like an eternity, her heart slowed and she pushed herself to her feet, not letting herself look at the wreckage of the bathroom and she made her way slowly back into the bedroom, attempting to pick up some of the clothes. The maids would clean it…but this was embarrassing. It would be all over the gossip columns by tomorrow, she just knew it.

Her fingers brushed something silken through the pile of León's discarded underwear and she paused, then picked it up. It was a silken scarf decorated with whirling, colorfully blinding patterns that were at once elegant and gaudy at the same time. Interesting…León had never showed this to her before. Had he gotten it from a woman? 

That was nonsense. León loved her and only her. He'd never even have eyes for another woman. She had been his whole universe. 

At least she could console herself with that.

She went back into the bathroom, brushing aside the broken glass and touching up her makeup before once again going back into the main room. The scarf caught her eye again and on a whim she picked it up as she closed the doors behind her, heading down the hallway to the nursery.

The night nurse looked up, surprised, as she came into the room. "Madame! The baby is asleep…would you like to see her?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, just for a few minutes."

The nurse looked even more surprised, probably due to the fact that Emily's visits to the nursery were rare, and her asking to see her daughter was even rarer. She gestured to Emily to be very quiet, then opened the door and allowed them both to enter.

Dorothy was asleep, one thumb in her mouth. The nurse made a noise of disapproval and made to remove the offending digit, but Emily stopped her with a motion of her hand. Slowly she crossed to the crib's side, noting how the dim light gleamed on her daughter's short, wispy, almost white hair.

"Hello, angel," she said softly, resting one hand on the little girl's head. Dorothy did not stir. Emily suddenly felt foolish, a mother who had no words to say to a daughter, but the nurse had gone back into the other room and they were alone.

"Your father's gone," she said quietly to the sleeping child. "I…I guess that it's the two of us now. I can't keep you here, you know…I'm sorry, but it's better for us both." Remembering the scarf she held in her hand, she shook it out gently, draped it over her daughter's chubby form. "This was your father's…I don't know what will happen from now on, but…" she trailed off, again at a loss for words.

"Good night," she finally said, and left the room. Antoine was waiting outside.

"Madame…your car is here…?"

She smiled at him, enjoying how the range of emotions from confused to surprised to resignation crossed over his face, and then nodded at him.

"I'm ready now, Antoine. We may go." 

To Part 3 | To Part 4 | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	4. Dorothy

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
Navidad

**IV. CANTIQUE DE NOEL  
[Minuit, chrétiens, c'est l'heure solennelle  
Où l'Homme Dieu descendit jusqu'à nous]**

_Dear, when thou has finished thy task // Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Come to me, my hand for to ask // For thou then art a true love of mine_

  
"Lady Dorothy?"

A rap on her door and she put down the book she had been reading. Had been attempting to read for about two hours now, with an interruption every five minutes from a servant about her preparations for the ball or her grandfather's updated instructions on what information to watch and listen for, or her cat, which was currently amusing itself by nibbling on the corner of the table.

"Stop that!" She reached out for the animal, banging her elbow on the table leg in the process. "Ow!" The cat swiped at her arm, raking it with a claw. "Damn you!" The knock sounded again.

"Coming!" she shouted in frustration, depositing the cat into a corner, where it yowled forlornly at her as she ran to the door and opened it.

It was a servant with her dress, as she had thought. "Thank you," she muttered, taking the gown and slamming the door in the man's face. Placing it on the bed, she picked up the cat again, marching to the bathroom and throwing it inside, shutting the door. It meowed pitifully.

"I have no sympathy for you," Dorothy said, moving back to the bed to examine the dress. It was made of black satin, backless, with silver embroidered designs on the bosom and the wide flared skirt. She sighed. She'd have to wear a corset with this…she hated corsets.

The scratch on her arm was beginning to sting and she began to head towards the bathroom - then remembered that the cat was in there. Sighing, she resorted to rubbing it with her thumb, hoping the redness and the swelling would go away before it was time for her to go down and meet guests.

The screen beeped just as she was taking off her shirt, and she hit voice only. "Grandfather?"

"Dorothy, I have confirmed the guest list. It's in the study, if you want to see it. Remember to-"

"-talk to General Noventa," she said. "Yes, Grandfather, I know. I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

He cut the connection without a further word and she finished taking off her slacks, pulling on a pair of pantyhose and sliding the dress over her head. Her mother would have a fit that she was dressing herself without maids, but Dorothy really didn't care what her mother thought, and she really didn't relish the idea of other women standing looking at her nude body. Her mother had some strange ideas.

She'd asked her grandfather if Emily was attending the party, but he had said no, that she was off in Italy and couldn't make it in time. She'd been both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed because she hadn't seen her mother in person in half a year, and relieved at the same time because she really didn't like her mother.

Touching a hint of lip gloss to her lips, Dorothy opened the door, ignoring the sounds of the cat from inside the bathroom. It sounded as though the animal was now trying to throw itself against the door. Smiling slightly, she left her bedroom door ajar as she left the room, just in case it managed to get out and needed food.

The guest list was in the study, as promised, and she ran through the long line of names, noting the ones she was familiar with and burning into memory the names of those with a small check by them, the ones who were important tonight.

Treize Khushrenada. That was interesting. Mayer Khushrenada?

"I see you found it," the voice of her grandfather said from behind her.

"Grandfather, who's Mayer Khushrenada?"

He crossed to her side and took the list. "He's your uncle. Your mother's sister. Be polite to him, won't you? He really has nothing to tell you, but he is family."

"Of course," she said absently. The band was tuning outside in the ballroom and she was hungry. "May I go eat something?"

"In a minute," Dermail said. "I have something for you."

That was a new one. She watched in interest as he crossed the study to take down a wrapped box from the bookshelf and handed it to her. She took it, hearing the wrapping paper crinkle under the fingers. The box felt light and she shook it experimentally, but it made no sound.

"What is it?"

"If I told you," her grandfather said chidingly, "it wouldn't be a Christmas present, would it?"

"Can I open it?"

"Suit yourself," he said, watching as she carefully slit the wrapping where it was taped at the sides, undid the silk ribbon. The box inside was plain and unadorned, and she cracked it open, drawing out the scarf that lay inside.

It was as little worn and faded, but the elegance of the silk was still there. The patterns danced before her eyes, and she looked up at her grandfather. "What's this?"

"It was your father's," he said. "Your mother left it with you when you were given to my care, and I thought it wise to keep it somewhere safe until you could take it back."

"It's very old," she whispered, running her hand across the fine fabric, "isn't it?"

"I suppose it is. Your mother never mentioned anything about this, only that she found it among your father's belongings after he died. I suppose she thought it was rather gaudy for her collection."

"I like it," Dorothy said defensively, raising the scarf out of the box and draping over her shoulders, the colorful patterns seeming to dance as the scarf rippled. "It matches my dress."

"I wouldn't know about that," Dermail said, coming over to her and taking the wrapping and the box, carefully folding them up and placing them in the trash can. "Women's fashions have always been a mystery to me. Though I claim to understand them, for the sake of women such as you."

"Grandfather!" she said, but she smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I expect a good report from you tonight, Dorothy."

The warm mood of the room broke at those words, and she nodded slowly. "Yes, Grandfather."

Exiting the study, she leaned against the wall of the ballroom for a while watching the preparations and hearing the first guests arrive through the front doors, hearing her grandfather's voice as he greeted them. The large Christmas tree in the center of the ballroom had been meticulously decorated with all kinds of glittering tinsel and she hardly spared it a glance. Too overdone, in her opinion. 

A delicious aroma of baked bread drifted towards her nose, and Dorothy remembered that she was hungry. The main meal was yet to come, but a few appetizers couldn't hurt.

The sandwich fixings were already laid out on the table, and the servants who were setting up the punch on the other table paid her no heed as she grabbed a plate and proceeded to throw almost all the ingredients of the table onto it between two slices of bread. Finishing with a slice of cheese at the side, she took a napkin and turned around-

-to bump into something. Blinking, she realized with some discomfort that it was the chest of a well-dressed man, who immediately backed up.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," the man said, and then paused. "Ah…Miss Dorothy Catalonia."

She'd only met him once before, last year, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Hello, Treize," she said, curtseying and balancing the sandwich plate in one hand. "Did you just arrive?"

"Your chauffeur is parking our car as we speak," Treize said. He looked the same as he had last year, tall, commanding, calm and controlled and handsome - except that his uniform was a little different. More elaborate, perhaps? Duke Dermail had told her that Treize had taken command of OZ in early March of this year.

_Great things will happen, Dorothy_, her grandfather had said. _Great things. We are moving forward now._

She hadn't been interested enough to ask what great things, but if Treize was behind them, they would be great things indeed.

"There is someone that I was hoping you could meet, actually," Treize said, breaking into her thoughts, and she turned her attention back to him. He gestured over his shoulder, where another man was approaching. He looked very much like Treize, except with blond hair, a little older, perhaps, with gray eyes and a genuine smile.

"How do you do?" he murmured, taking her hand as Treize stepped aside. "It's good to meet my niece at last."

She curtseyed again as he kissed her hand, feeling a strange detachment to the handsome stranger who was looking at her as if she was his daughter. I don't know you, she wanted to say. I don't even know my mother. But she didn't say anything, simply smiled politely and waited for them to go away so she could eat her sandwich in peace.

Instead, Mayer turned to Treize. "She certainly has grown since I saw her last. Could barely walk, the little one!"

Dorothy frowned. "We've met?"

Mayer chuckled. "I could hardly call it 'met'…you were about three years old at the time and I had some business in the area so I stopped by to visit your grandfather, and he and I visited you in your nursery. Your hair was the same color then, though you had a lot less of it." Laughing quietly at his own joke.

Dorothy looked uncertainly at him, wondering if this man was all right in the head, then shrugged and bit into her sandwich. It wobbled a bit as she put it back down on the plate, but appeared to hold. "I'm sure it was a nice visit, but I don't remember."

"I don't expect you to," Mayer said, then paused. "That scarf…I've seen it before."

Treize raised one elegant eyebrow. "Have you now? Where'd you get that, Dorothy?"

"My grandfather gave it to me just now," she returned, irritable that they wouldn't just go away and let her eat. "It was a Christmas present."

"It was your aunt's," Mayer said softly. "I saw her wear it only once…at a Christmas party two years before her death."

Despite herself, Dorothy was interested. "Really?"

Mayer nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Your Aunt Alicia…she was a rebellious one. Went and joined the Academy at thirteen, against your grandfather's wishes. Didn't come back until twelve years later, and then went away again. That was the only time I saw her before she died."

"Oh," Dorothy said. "How did she die?"

The older man shook his head. "I have no idea. I hadn't been in contact with your family at the time, and I only heard of it through other sources. Though your mother did say that your father was absolutely devastated by her death."

"And the scarf…it was hers?"

"She wore it that one night at the party. That's how I figure…it's a unique piece of work."

"Oh," she said again. "I see."

"Your Aunt Alicia…" Mayer shook his head. "She was a strange one. No one ever really knew her, not even her own brother, I don't believe. But she was very beautiful, I'll give you that. Such a pity."

Treize tapped Mayer gently. "I believe the young lady wants to finish her sandwich…why don't we step away for a minute?"

"Nice to meet you, Dorothy," Mayer said, smiling. "We'll probably be back sometime later on."

She nodded to both of them, taking a large bite of her remaining sandwich and gulping the rest down, chewing quickly and dashing away to the study.

As she expected, the door was locked, but she placed her hand to the fingerprint ID panel and it clicked open for her. Her grandfather was no longer there, and she went over to the bookcase, scanning the titles of books, not sure what she was looking for.

Duke Dermail had moved to this house in France from his previous residence in Spain about ten years ago. She'd only been a child then, so she didn't remember much, and he had never explained to her why he had decided to leave the old Catalonia family home for this newly built one. She supposed he had his reasons - he always did - but the move might mean that many of her family's older belongings had been lost.

Mayer had said that Alicia had been rebellious. Would her grandfather have kept anything of hers at all?

She was looking in the wrong place, she decided, and went out through the back door of the study, up the back staircase, to the second floor. The hall was dark and she switched on the light, counting doors until she came to the one she wanted. It was not locked, and as she passed through, the automatic light snapped on.

The room was full of boxes. Boxes from the move, which the servants had not gotten around to sorting, and probably never would, considering that it had already been ten years. The boxes were labeled, which was a good thing, Dorothy decided as she waded in, turning over box after box, looking.

Some of the boxes were heavy and she soon found herself coated in a light sheen of sweat. The dress was heavy and not made for moving boxes, but she pressed on. She was actually pretty sure that she had seen this box before, when she used to play up here as a child. The servants would scold her and warn her never to come in here, as she might "break something," but there was little chance of that, since most of the things in the boxes were packed carefully, and even if she did break something, there was slim chance of anyone finding out.

There it was.

It was a box labeled "Miscellaneous," but she knew that it held some old pairs of boys' socks (her father's?) a few misplaced and broken gadgets (screwdrivers, can openers), and some books. She hadn't known whose the books were, though she'd had a suspicion, as the handwriting in them where the notes were in the margins was definitely female. Opening the box, she rummaged through and pulled out the first book.

_Songs of Innocence and Experience,_ the title read, _by William Blake._

She had read the poems before, but opened the book and flipped through it. There were notes in the margins, some of them quite long. Alicia Catalonia had loved poetry, apparently, because there were more of William Blake's books inside the box, as well as a compilation of poetry by Héctor Rosales and several other volumes by Federico García Lorca. John Milton's _Paradise Lost_ was the last book of the bunch, and she set them down on the floor beside her, wondering what had possessed her to go to all that trouble to gather a few of her aunts' old books.

She opened the first volume again, turned randomly to the middle of the section and noticed a passage highlighted in at least three different colors.

_Love seeketh not Itself to please,  
Nor for itself hath any care;  
But for another gives its ease,  
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair_

Alicia had gone to the trouble of underlining it as well, and Dorothy traced over it with her fingers, wondering what was so important about this passage of poetry that would warrant her aunt's attention. The scarf around her shoulders suddenly felt cold and she wondered if Alicia would mind, her niece taking the scarf that had been hers without asking. 

"Aunt?" Dorothy said hesitantly to the empty room. "You don't mind, do you? That I'm wearing this? It was my father's…I don't know how you felt about him, but I never knew him. So I'd appreciate it if you would let me keep it for a little while."

There was no answer, obviously, but she suddenly realized that she had been partly expecting one, and she let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in, picking up the books and slipping out of the room. The light turned off and she closed the door, making her way up to her room on the third floor, where she dumped the books on the bed.

The bathroom door was ajar. The cat had gotten out after all, gone probably in search of supper, and she smoothed the bedspread under her fingers. The curtains on her window were drawn back, and outside, it was snowing.

Mayer's face came into her mind, his voice saying, _She was a strange one. No one ever really knew her, not even her own brother, I don't believe._

Dorothy wondered what her father would have to say about her aunt, if he had still been alive. She'd never know now, but after all, some things were better left unknown.

_But she was very beautiful, I'll give you that._

Smoothing the scarf again, she got up, unwrapping it from her shoulders and folding it loosely into a square, tucking it into one of her drawers. On second thought, she took it back out, laid it flat on the bed and bundled the books up in it, placing it back into the drawer.

"There you go, Aunt," she said, closing the drawer. "It's yours again."

"Lady Dorothy?"

She jumped, then realized it was a voice down the hallway. Feeling slightly foolish that whoever it was had caught her talking to thin air, she whirled around, but it was only a servant who had just arrived at the door. "Your grandfather is looking for you."

"I'll be there," she said, pretending to adjust her hair in the mirror until she heard his footsteps fade down the hall. The drawer tempted her, but she glared at it and went to the door, looking back and flipping off the light.

_But she was very beautiful._

She closed the door behind her.

  
**[Fall on your knees; oh, hear the angel voices  
Oh night divine! Oh night when Christ was born  
Oh night divine! Oh night, Oh night divine!]**

* * *

Notes:

- The Catalonia family is Spanish, while the Khushrenadas are of French/German descent. All of them are (of course) members of upper society. This whole story takes place over a time span of 18 years.

- I have the Catalonia family estate located in the region of Galicia in northern Spain, close to the Galician capital, Santiago de Compestela (a famous religious site for Catholic pilgrims). For more information on Galicia, go to http://www.red2000.com/spain/region/r-galic.html

- _Navidad_ means "Christmas" in Spanish

- Etille is fluent in Mandarin, being an OZ Intelligence officer stationed in Beijing, so he is speaking to the pig seller and the little boy in Mandarin.

- _Adiós, mi señora bella…adiós, fantasma mia._: Spanish, "Goodbye, my beautiful lady, goodbye, ghost of mine."

- English titles for the songs used in Parts 1 through 4  
Part 1: _A Light Shines in the Sky_ [Traditional Spanish Villancico]  
Part 2: _O Come, O Come, Emmanuel_ [Latin hymn]  
Part 3: _Still, Still, Still_ [Austrian carol]  
Part 4: _Oh Holy Night_ [German carol]  
The italicized verses are all from _Scarborough Fair_, traditional English folk song.

To Part 3 | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


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